Better Off Dead by Katy Munger

Author:Katy Munger [Munger, Katy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery detective, casey jones, research triangle park, humorous mystery, north carolina, katy munger, southern mystery, funny mystery, janet evanovich, female detective, mystery and love, tough female detectives, sexy female detective, tough female sleuths, cookie429, Extratorrents, Kat
Publisher: Katy Munger
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

"Do you think they know who you are?" Burly asked me the next night. We were down at the pond, waiting for the sun to set. I was perched on top of the picnic table and Burly was in his wheelchair beside me. We were holding hands as the sun inched toward the horizon. It was all very romantic—except that we were discussing whether my undercover role had been blown.

I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe Carroll has figured out who I am. But I don't think that Brookhouse has me made. He'd never let me near him, or his study, if he knew who I really was. He'd have fired me or called me on it before now."

"Unless he's waiting for a time to get you alone," Burly mumbled.

I laughed. "Which one of us are you worried about? If I end up going one-on-one with Brookhouse, I'll snap his skinny ass in two."

I was going to illustrate my testosterone-inspired claim by karate-kicking a bunch of small green bananas off a nearby palm, but a distant buzzing stopped me. The sound grew louder. Like a plane taking off... but in the woods? That made no sense.

"Do you hear that?" I asked.

Burly heard it. And Burly knew it. "This is not good," he shouted, wheeling furiously toward the oil drum grill. "Are you armed?"

"God, no," I said. "Why?"

The answer swept into the clearing in an avalanche of deafening sound. Motorcycles. Choppers. Six or seven of them. All manned by refrigerator-sized human beings whose faces were obscured by helmets and goggles. They wore an assortment of leather and denim, cuffed, torn, their colors and emblems taped over with black masking tape so that I could not tell which club they were with.

There was no question why they were there. The moment they saw us, they started shooting us the bird, shouting insults and gunning their engines. They must have been waiting, and watching, when Burly and I headed down to the pond. Talk about sitting ducks. He was Donald and I was Daisy.

"Shit," Burly shouted. "Take this." He tossed me a long barbecue fork, then grabbed a grill brush and started swinging it as if testing a bat for weight.

I caught the fork and held it out in front of me like a sword. What the hell was I supposed to do with it? Stab some biker in the rump and see if he was done?

"Who are they?" I yelled at Burly over the din of engine whine. The bikes roared into the clearing and bore down on us. Burly positioned himself so that his back was protected by the large metal grill. I stood beside him, determined that no one was going to hurt him if I had my way.

"I can't tell who they are," he said. "But there must be someone I know in there." Burly had been a biker. A long time ago. In his pre-wheelchair lifetime.

"What the fuck do they want?" I wondered out loud.

"Us," Burly said.

He was right. The bikers reached us and dropped into a circle formation.

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